


fail we may (sail we must)

by bleakmidwinter



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Anal Sex, Canon Divergent, Execution, Fix-It, M/M, Post-Season/Series 06, Prison Escape, Romance, Second Chances, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Unhealthy Relationships, electric chair, on the lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 11:34:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29874018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleakmidwinter/pseuds/bleakmidwinter
Summary: After being executed by the state for the murder of Chris Keller, Beecher finds himself thrust back in time, before Busmalis and Alvarez's escape from Oz. There is a chance he can rewrite history to his own benefit.
Relationships: Tobias Beecher/Chris Keller
Kudos: 5





	fail we may (sail we must)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the song fail we may sail we must by unloved

Tobias is reminded of something Chris once said to him. 

_ I love the irony. I got away with all those murders I actually committed and here I am confessing to one I'm innocent of. _

Except, Toby hadn’t confessed to the murder of Chris Keller. Hell, he’d tried his best to convince everyone listening that it had been an accident. Perhaps it was the fact he and Keller had been fighting on and off for years that no one believed him, or perhaps it was the consequences of his actions finally catching up to him. Brutally killing Metzger. His part in Andrew Schillinger’s death. Even instigating the rape of a boy he knew on the outside. 

Strapped into an electric chair, he can’t say it surprises him he’s here. 

It doesn’t mean the fear is gone, the shock of his life coming to a close in no less than five minutes. Chris would have enjoyed watching this, just for the showmanship of it all, but his absence is the reason he’s here. 

McManus tried his hardest to convince the state that Beecher needn’t be executed for this crime, even after Beecher had been pronounced guilty. Sister Pete had probably gone to his aid as well, maybe even Father Mukada, he’d stopped allowing visits before they could say. He made no allegiances in Oz. Aside from Rebadow and Busmalis, anyone that had been watching most likely had no problem saying ‘Yeah, I saw Beecher toss Keller over the railing.’

Over the days and months spent on death row, he began to understand what Chris must have been feeling. It is so lonely, isolated. Sister Pete offered to bring his daughter in for a visit, but he declined knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to take his execution like a man if he could visualize the future his daughter would have without him. 

If he had to tell her she’d never be seeing him again.

It surprised everyone, when he requested the electric chair. 

Chris had told him once he’d wanted to go out with a charge, had told him lethal injection was for pussies. Tobias is no pussy, but that’s not why he chose it. 

He’s not quite positive on why he chose it actually, but he knows he needs the chair over the injection. Wants to feel the pain, wants it surge through every vein in his body until his life is quite literally fried out of his body. Doesn’t want to writhe weakly, holding on for life as his lungs slowly contract. 

Chris’ spiritual approval of his choice is only the cherry on top. 

Sister Pete, just beyond the window in the small execution room, is already crying. Doctor Nathan is there, holding her. She isn’t crying, she doesn’t know Tobias too well. But, she looks horrified. Everyone does. It is strange to him that there are visitors here, watching him die, people he’s never met in his life allowed to witness the end of it. 

McManus is directly in front of him, looking like a walking ghost and a shaky dog all at once. He’s probably blaming himself, wondering where he went wrong in Tobias’ rehabilitation. He should have listened to Said’s ramblings about the impossibility that one man could ever reform the entire penal system. It would take a load off his shoulders.

Toby smiles at the memory of Said, and wonders if he’s about to see him again fairly soon. 

McManus looks even more disturbed when Toby begins to smile, and it is the last sight he sees before a black cloth is covering his face, blocking his vision, making his breath hot. 

He’s told this is the moment many men start to cry. 

He doesn’t. 

“Any final words, Beecher?” McManus asks in a weak voice, and Tobias can hear two of the orderlies moving the microphone closer to his mouth. 

“I’m going to Heaven,” he announces. “God doesn’t have the balls to keep me out.” 

If Chris is watching, he’s sure he appreciates the touch. 

All thought leaves his body as the silence stretches on. He assumed he’d be wracked with regrets, memories, but he’s perfectly still and comforted by the absence of any thought process. He wishes this moment could last forever, finally feeling at peace with himself. 

He knows he’s ruined the lives of his family members, his friends on the outside. He knows he’s killed, maimed, hurt others inside the prison walls. But for now, it doesn’t matter. 

It will all be over. 

There are orderlies cranking dials beside him and he strains against his binds just to test the give. It feels good, to be strapped down, incapable of fighting back. It gives him a reason not to. 

In the seconds before the switch is flipped, he thinks of Chris. Of kissing him, of when he first fell in love, when he fell out of it, and regained the feeling again tenfold. And the sex, god, the sex. He remembers believing he’d never see Chris again, and realizing he could never love anyone in the same way he loves him. Another time in his life, Beecher would have been angry Keller managed to weasel his way into his final thoughts, but he supposes he consumed all of him from the moment he laid eyes on him. He never had a chance. There is a comfort in inevitability and fate. 

He hears a loud switch, the sound of a machine powering on. 

There are heated bolts that run through him, surges of electricity that strike him like fangs over and over, his nerves screaming so high he can barely hear them. The only thing he can do is tremble viciously, vision whitening out, and suddenly, everything goes deadly black. 

* * *

Keller once told Beecher he knew what the fires of hell felt like, searing his skin. Consuming him, smoke in his throat burning his lungs. He knew he would go back there. 

Toby believed in heaven. He believed in being at peace with himself in death. He believed in resolution, recompense, second chances. The lord would be waiting for him at the pearly gates with open arms and tell him ‘all the pain, all the suffering, was necessary to be here.’

In whatever form it decided to take, Toby knew one day, evil wouldn’t be able to find a way to consume him. Despite the odds, despite what he’d done. 

Remorse should have been enough. 

* * *

Beecher wakes in his cell to the sound of the count horn ringing through Emerald City. He hasn’t been to Em City in a long while, so many days spent in the cold, desolate cell that made up his own personal Death Row. For a moment, it’s comforting.

Then as he’s dozing, the clack of doors slamming, inmates lining up and rambling about tits and computer privileges, he scrambles upward, vertigo hitting him like a freight train. 

A baton slams against the glass, startling him further.

“Rise and shine, Beecher. We don’t got all day!”

He can’t do much else other than obey, and in his boxers and nothing else, he pads out into line. Ryan O’Reily ends up standing beside him, giving him a weary once over. 

“You okay Beecher? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“I feel like one,” Toby responds quietly, crossing his arms over his chest as the chilled air of Em City licks around his body like a wet blanket. The adrenaline of waking up inside these walls had made him forget how damn cold it gets in this place. 

Adebisi saunters out of his cell on the second floor, practically naked in his baggie white underwear. Beecher grows colder, and then darts his eyes around until they land on Said. 

He allows himself a momentary splurge of relief, before he’s hit with mortification. 

He was meant to die. Go to heaven. 

Leave prison. 

Oh God, this is Hell. 

When count ends, he rushes back into his cell and shuts the door. No one will bother him; they stopped bothering him a long time after he’d terrorized Vern in the name of revenge. This is a long time after that, his hair is even longer. He looks in the foggy mirror and sees a stranger, a man long lost to time. A man not yet paroled, not yet heartbroken entirely, that sliver of hope remaining dangling like bait. But, he’s a man that knows  _ exactly  _ what’s going to happen. 

Christ, Augustus hasn’t even died yet. He can see him outside, playing cards with Busmalis and Rebadow before breakfast. He splashes water in his face and doesn’t wake up. 

Hysterically he thinks, perhaps, this is a possibility for a second chance. 

Or perhaps, he’ll wake up on the same day tomorrow, forced to live out his life in a Groundhog-Day-Style life sentence. 

_ Chris.  _ Chris isn’t here.

After throwing on a grey t-shirt, and some sweatpants, he clambers out to the card game his fellow inmates are involved in and hovers over Hill with what must look like an intimidating expression because he rolls back, just out of his way, mildly uncomfortable. 

Of course he would be, he was Beecher’s roommate when he’d been going through his less than sane phase.

“Where’s Keller?” he asks,  _ demands _ . 

Sure enough Hill scoffs and asks, “You riddled with the crazies again, bro?” 

Busmalis cocks his head and responds, “That French guy shot him, remember? He’s been in the ER for a few days.” 

Oh God. Gary is still alive. 

But Christ, not for long. Beecher already set up the meeting with Hank Schillinger and his father. Beecher feels like crying, screaming, and rejoicing all at once. He won’t be able to save Gary. He’ll have to experience his son’s death, the severed hand, the fucking  _ guilt  _ over and over again for the rest of his life. Holy shit, he  _ is  _ in Hell. 

Suddenly, all those talks about the ‘fires’ of Hell seem real, and Toby knows exactly what Chris meant,  _ exactly  _ why he never wanted to go back there. 

“Tobias, do you want a chair? You look ill.” Rebadow’s voice breaks through the sickly fog consuming him, but he doesn’t have the presence of mind to respond, or move as his knees give out and his head slams unceremoniously into the table as he faints. 

* * *

Fear rushes through him before he wakes. 

The suspense waiting to hear the noise of the hacks calling count, of restarting that same day over again haunts him even in his unconscious state, but he calms when he hears the sound of medical equipment beeping and carts rolling. His eyes shutter open, feeling dry and foggy. 

An IV bag is strapped to his arm, and he feels about twenty pounds heavier. Perhaps some drugs they’d injected him with. 

The drugs don’t counteract the adrenaline that comes with the understanding he has time traveled, inexplicably, and legitimately. He is in the past, stuck in a random day in Oz. 

“Hey gorgeous,” a familiar voice pipes up from beside him. 

Toby goes cold, deliberates turning until his eyes are settling on Chris, lying horizontal on a cot next to his. He’s grinning, shirtless, his bullet wound dressed so well there isn’t a speck of blood.

“Chris,” he whispers back, entranced. The sight arrests him. He hasn’t seen his face in months, god, it’s been so long since he’d seen that genuine smile, the one he felt he could trust. But, this is the same man who screwed up his parole. That took him away from his kids. 

All in the name of love, that’s what Beecher had recited to Sister Pete. It was shocking after his death, to realize that despite the horror, the love was real. It always had been. 

“You’ll never believe the dream I was just havin’ about you.” He lowers his voice, licks his bottom lip. “You were sucking my cock on some beach in Havana.” 

Some things never change.

Seeing him alive makes him never want to leave this bed. 

Beecher tries to wrap his head around the significance of this day. He can’t remember anything other than his children’s kidnapping. Hell seems like it would burn worse than this; it wouldn’t allow him to see Chris in such close contact, to relive the fleeting unbridled affection from his first years with him. Despite Gary, there had to be more about this day. 

Like clockwork Chris asks, “What’s this I’ve been hearing about a trial?” 

Memories flood back to him. Beecher remembers testifying in Said’s stead, fearful he would indict the United States legal system if he were to testify since he could scarcely get over wearing the administered orange jumpsuit. Beecher remembers this day now. The day Busmalis and Alvarez escaped the Oswald Correctional Facility. 

Alvarez is across the room, looking half dead in his cot. 

Busmalis’ shift will start soon if it hasn’t already. Beecher remembers him recollecting the ‘story of the escape’ when he’d returned. 

His first, primal thought, is that he can save his son before Schillinger touches him. But no, that would never work. The cops would keep on coming, keep on trailing him, and he’d never be sure when they would take him from his kids. He couldn’t do that to his family. 

The other option is to serve the rest of his sentence. Again. He could try to change things. He knows he would fail, trying to save his loved ones even knowing the future. It will all go awry, in other ways. There is no stopping the carnage of prison life, no matter how hard he tries, he learned that much by the time he’d been sent to death row. 

“Beech,” Chris mumbles, craning his head forward. “You good?” 

“Yeah sorry,” Toby replies quietly. “I’m glad you’re alright. Said’s going to testify.” 

“What happened to you?” Chris asks in that completely sincere way he can manage if he’s focusing. It still surprises Toby how deeply that attention cuts him. 

“Fainted. I was dizzy, um,” Toby closes his eyes, trying to think back and figure out what time Busmalis had escaped with Alvarez. Must have been during a shift change with the guards, but when will that be? “I’m not too sure.” 

“I hate to sound selfish, but I’m glad you had a fall. I get to see you every second of every day until I’m discharged,” Chris responds with a toothy grin. “I can’t complain.” 

“If you’re thinking I orchestrated it this way, you’re wrong,” Toby replies, but can’t help but smile back, just a bit. Chris laughs, and lies back, eyes closed. 

Beecher gazes over to the storage closet where Busmalis’ hole had been dug originally. If he wants to make use of it, it is going to need to be tonight. 

What is he going to do when he’s out? Live a life alone in another country? Do what? How does he make sure his children are safe? He wasn’t given nearly enough time to contemplate this, and all his ruminating stops cold when he realizes; What is Chris going to do?

The first thought in his mind is,  _ I can’t leave him here.  _

Beecher’s heart skips a beat.

Damn it all. This isn’t Hell, or if it is, it’s a more ironic Hell than he could have ever imagined. This is giving him a chance to start fresh, to run off with someone he loves, and leave this prison behind. They could escape, together. Live together, on the run, far from America. 

Keller could get bored. Beecher could go mad. 

He’d never see his kids again. Hell, he’d made peace with that fact by the time he’d sat in the electric chair, probably even before then. No more harm should come to his children by his own hand. Perhaps getting out of the picture entirely would do them better. It seems simple, when he thinks of it like that. 

He needs to do what he can to save his kids first, from Shillinger, from himself. 

“Doctor Nathan,” Toby calls, and she’s near enough to sidle up to the side of his bed, smile down at him gently, questioning. “Is it possible you could get Sister Pete for me?” 

She frowns. “What for?”

“It’s important.” 

Doctor Nathan has learned by experience when to ask questions and when to leave well enough alone. Sister Peter Marie coming down to visit Toby isn’t a harsh request, and Beecher isn’t a troublesome inmate or patient. She nods simply, and disappears off to her office to get to her phone. 

“Why’d ya wanna see the sister?” Chris asks, picking at his nails. 

He has no clue what is in store for tonight. 

“Do you trust me, Chris?” 

Usually the question is wielded the other way around, and Chris looks just as baffled as he should look. For a moment, Toby is almost curious he’ll say no, but he nods in affirmation. 

“I trust you more than anyone in cumbucket.” 

Charming. 

“Tonight, I need you to do what I tell you, when I tell you.” 

Chris raises a brow, amused. 

“I don’t think we can get away with much foolin’ around in here, Tobe.” He’s misunderstanding the demand royally. “But hey, I’ll try whatever you wanna try. Just don’t blame me if we end up in the hole.”

It’s been a long time since Keller flirted with him, and Toby can’t help but quirk his lips up a little, but he shakes his head and whispers, “Not like that. All I’m asking is you do what I ask tonight, alright? Even if later, I ask you to do something a little weird.”

“What’s this about?”

“I can’t say right now.” 

That glint of danger flares up in Chris’ eyes. Toby knows it well, and knows that if he withholds answers long enough, that danger will turn to action. Luckily, he won’t have to wait long. It seems the sun is already descending just beyond the windows. The hacks will be clocking out before he knows it. He hopes Sister Pete can hurry. 

* * *

Pete doesn’t take long, much to his relief. She comes down with a look of well-aged concern lining her features. Beecher gets right to the point, blunt and forward otherwise she’ll ask too many questions. 

In the interim of waiting for her, he’d haphazardly written up a few letters with Chris’ eyes burning holes into the side of his face. One to his father. One for his kids to open at a later date. One for Schillinger inside one he plans to mail to his father, to instruct him to mail to Schillinger at yet another later date. No one can claim Tobias Beecher is unprepared even with his most impulsive plans. 

“I need one more thing,” he whispers after easily convincing Pete to mail the letters. “Convince Doctor Nathan to let me make a phone call.” 

“With her office phone? Toby – ”

“Please. I’ll never ask anything of you again.” 

This time, he can promise that much. 

Sister Pete casts a baffled glance at Chris who shrugs priggishly, apparently amused at Beecher’s odd behavior. Of course he is. 

“Alright, Tobias.” She swallows. “Give me a few minutes.” 

She disappears off to Doctor Nathan’s office. Tobias supposes he should be thankful there haven’t been many injuries today, otherwise Nathan’s attitude would be drastically different. She is quite empathetic, and if there are dozens of inmates hollering, keyed up, she won’t be very receptive, but he can see her glancing over the rim of her reading glasses at him. Through the window, and Sister Pete trying amicably to make a good case for his sake. 

“Toby,” Chris murmurs and Toby jumps, not used to that voice so close to his ear again. He turns and sees specks of genuine concern mingling in that dead-eyed gaze of his. “You been drinking again?” 

Toby cracks a tiny smile, feeling warm. 

“No, nothing like that.” 

“I’m worried about you.” 

“Says the man who recently got shot.” Toby isn’t acting like a caring lover; to be fair, he hasn’t truly grasped the reality of his travel through time, and the last thing he remembers of Chris in his own life is him tossing himself off a railing, framing Beecher for the murder. Remaining angry seems fruitless, and how can he, when this version of Chris hasn’t come close to doing something like that yet? Taking a deep breath he settles on, “You don’t know how good it is to know you’re alive. That you’re okay.” 

“Don’t waste the waterworks on me, Beech, I’ll be fine,” Chris reaches a hand out and curls the tips of his fingers around Toby’s own outstretched hand. He feels electricity there. Even after all this time. He doesn’t have time to relish it until a guard is shouting at them to split it up. 

He retracts his hand while Chris flips them off. 

This merely strengthens Beecher’s resolve. 

Sister Pete returns to his side and helps him up from the cot. He doesn’t need her help, but if he acts weak enough, they’ll keep him here overnight. And that’s all he needs. 

Chris watches them go and she whispers, “I’ll see you later, Tobias. Get better,” before departing from his side. Nathan isn’t looking nearly as gentle as she did when he first woke, but she stands and folds her glasses down on the desk. 

“You have two minutes. Make it quick.” 

She doesn’t go far, just to adjust equipment by the nearest cot, but far enough away he won’t have to truly whisper. He dials his father’s number, long memorized by now and it picks up on the third ring. He holds his breath, releases it when he hears his dad’s voice. 

It’s been long, longer than Chris. 

Christ, far too long. 

“Hello?”

“Dad, I don’t have long. I need you to listen. Write this down if you have to. Can you get me something today if I ask you to?” 

He hears paper rustling, a pen clicking. 

“Depends Toby,” his father responds warily. “What’s going on?” 

“Dad, you’ve done so much for me,” Toby’s voice cracks. “Christ, more than I’ve ever deserved, and I’m going to ask for one more thing, and I need you to trust me, and understand. Okay? I don’t have the time to answer your questions, but I’ve mailed you some letters. You’ll understand when you get them, alright? Please. Clear your schedule if you have to, I need you to do this as soon as possible, by tonight.” 

There are a few beats of heart-pounding silence, and then a small sigh.

“What are you asking?” 

“You know the boat you inherited from Aunt Dottie?” 

“Yes, of course.”

“I need you to leave the keys by the front door. It’s still docked in the same place, yeah?” 

Another pause, and then a scoffed, “What?”   


“No questions dad, please. There isn’t time.” 

“What is this going to accomplish, Tobias?” his father continues, disregarding the warning. “Is this for some mob deal, or – ”

“Please!” Tobias half-shouts, immediately catching himself and lowering his voice. “Just do what I say this once, alright? The kids might be in danger.” It’s not exactly a lie, but it will get his father to listen. 

“The boat isn’t registered Toby, I’ve been lackadaisical about that, if anyone were to use it, they’d be a blaring target for the Coast Guard.”

_ That’s what I’m counting on.  _

“Will you do it?”

There are a few more seconds of heavy breathing before his father says, “Yes, Toby. Alright, I’ll go leave the keys under the placement in front of the cabin.” 

“I love you, dad,” Toby murmurs, quite sure this is the last time he’ll ever speak to him again. It is a terrifying thought, but the nauseating relief that comes with being able to have that last goodbye, knowing this time, that he will never hear his father’s voice again, is a stifling comfort. 

There is a muffled goodbye between them, and then the call is over. Done. Doctor Nathan reclaims her office and Beecher stumbles back to his bedside with the help of an orderly. 

Busmalis mopping the floor with a song in his heart catches his eye, and he waits patiently for the man to grow closer. There is one last thing he must do. Be able to convince him not to make his escape tonight. Four inmates leaving their beds would draw attention. If he convinces him to postpone until tomorrow, he and Chris can steal the opening. 

* * *

Beecher rests his eyes to avoid Chris asking questions. 

There are minutes left, until the change of shift. He can change his mind, cast Keller to hell and never turn back. Escape on his own, maybe steal his kids and run away with them to Mexico. No, he could never force them to be on the lamb, like criminals. He won’t force them to adopt that lifestyle. They’ll be raised by the man and woman who had everything to do with  _ him  _ becoming a good man.

Chris on the other hand, won’t mind the lifestyle he’s offering. He knows for a fact, Chris will come with him. All he has to do is avoid speculating what will come after the escape. 

“Chris,” he says, when he opens his eyes and finds the other man asleep. He groans a little, and opens his eyes too, smiling at Beecher. 

“This is the first time I’ve got sleep in a while, Tobe. Must be something to do with you bein’ here. Your smell or something,” he murmurs. Toby’s throat tightens and he keeps his fingers folded together to avoid reaching out. There will be time for that. 

“I’m going to get up, head for the bathroom. I’m going to enter the Janitor’s closet instead. I need you to follow me after a couple minutes, discreetly.” 

“Oh, I see. It’s  _ that  _ kind of plan.” 

Chris licks his lips to part them before eyeing Toby head to toe. 

He’ll let him believe this is about a romp, just to get him to follow. 

“Promise me you’ll come.” 

“Only if you promise me you’ll come.” Chris winks, pleased at his own pun and Toby rolls his eyes with a bashful smile. He’d never gotten used to Chris’ dirty talk. 

“I promise, Beecher,” Chris adds, affirmatively. Toby sighs, relief and nausea returning to tangle around each other in his gut. He keeps his eyes on the guard and his adrenaline spikes when the female orderly checks her watch and lets her hair down before leaving to clock in her hours. He nearly darts up, but slows himself down at the last minute. 

He brings his IV bag with him toward the bathroom and looks around before disappearing into the Janitor’s closet. 

He rummages around the supplies until he finds it; the hole. It is huge, and small all at once. He stares at it, almost disbelieving he’ll be free in a matter of hours because of this hatch. 

What follows is the longest few minutes Beecher has ever felt in his life. Even worse than waiting for them to pull the switches for the electric chair. 

Then the handle of the door is jiggling, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, fearful a guard has followed, but Chris shimmies through the door and closes it behind him, grinning at Toby fiendishly before shoving him up against the wall of the small closet, grinding his half hard cock into Toby’s soft one. 

Toby gasps, pushing at his shoulders with trembling hands, feeling his adrenaline flip to arousal so fast he becomes light-headed. “Chris, no, that’s not…”

Chris pulls back, brow furrowed, and his hands run up his body to feel every inch of his torso. It pains Toby to tell him to stop. He’s wearing a sweatshirt. It had been getting cold in the ER. It is better attire for dragging one’s body through a rocky hole, anyhow. 

“Look,” Toby pants, nodding toward the hole in the wall. Chris turns, deliberately slow, and pulls back when he sees it. Exchanging glances between the aperture and Toby’s face. 

“Busmalis again?” he asks. 

“I want you to come with me,” Toby declares. Straight to the point. Chris meets his gaze with mirth, and when he realizes he’s serious, he side steps backward. 

“You want to escape.”

“We can escape, you and me, right now. We don’t have time to talk about this. They’ll realize we’re missing soon enough.” 

Chris blinks, panting heavier now for reasons other than arousal. Toby doesn’t know why he assumed this would be an easy decision for him to make; there is something deep inside that is struggling to remain in its cage, fearful for the world if it were to get out. 

What Chris does say is, “Toby, what about your kids? You’re not going to be able to see them again, are you? Where you gonna go?” 

“No, I won’t see them again.” Toby had reconciled that by the time he’d been executed. Pangs of discomfort still ring through him, but this is for the best. At least that’s what he’s telling himself. “I’ll explain to you, when we get out. I’ll explain everything, Chris.”

“You want me to come with you?” he asks, in a smaller voice. Vulnerable, even. “You want me to escape with you, run away with you?” 

“Yes to it all, Keller. Yes.”

It’s been a long time since he said  _ Yes  _ to Chris Keller. He finds it’s been too long. He’s missed it, this, them.  _ Us,  _ he thinks. 

Chris nods, fingers twitching at his sides. Toby closes in on him, reaches out and marvels at the realness of his body, his breath against his skin. Kisses the confirmation on his lips and tugs him closer. “Together, you and me. What do you say?”

“What do I say?” he echoes, blinking fast. “I say who are ya and what have ya done with Tobias fucking Beecher.” 

Toby grins. “Is that a yes?” 

“Yes, you putz. You think I’m gonna pass up an escape from this hell hole? Busmalis ain’t gonna be happy though.” 

“He can dig another one.” 

Keller rubs a thumb against the grain of Beecher’s stubble and resists kissing him one more time. He sighs, breath wafting over his lips. 

“Ladies first,” he murmurs and Toby rolls his eyes. 

He goes first though, knows Keller will be slower due to his injury. He doesn’t want Chris to feel inadequate. He’s quite violent when he feels that way. 

Toby falls to his hands and knees and can smell the earth this close to the opening. He turns back and Chris is close behind him, looking at him with an unbelieving gaze, and strangely enough, thankful. Like he can’t quite believe the man he loves is also his good luck charm as well as his bane. 

Chris slaps his rear playfully, “Onward, sexy steed.”   


“Jesus,” he mutters back, but delights in the statement all the same. He puts one hand palm down on the ridges surface of the hole and takes a deep breath. 

Only several more yards to go, and even more. 

* * *

They get out, in a shorter amount of time than Beecher expected. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, perhaps it was the excitement, but either way, they’re out. 

Beyond the barbed wire walls and the brick prison, the only way forward is the forest, and they don’t speak much as they navigate the thick brush. Chris appears to understand Toby needs the silence to concentrate, figure out where they’re going. He sure as hell isn’t the one who knows how to direct himself. 

“Beecher,” Chris says, startling Toby from his focus when they approach a road. “Where we goin?” 

“The docks, in my town.” 

Chris doesn’t question this. “Okay, you need me to hotwire a car?” 

Toby swerves to face him, and finds he can barely see his expression. The sun has long since set, and even though they are close enough to touch, his face is a blob of shadows. 

“You want to add another felony to the list?”

“We’re already on the run, Tobes. They’ll be finding us if we don’t pick up the pace.”

“They’ll be looking for stolen vehicles.”

“Not if we hotwire it, and drop it off just far enough away from the docks. They’ll think you went to your Dads’ place or something. Come on, I’ve done shit like this before.” 

Chris is right. He has more experience on the criminal front. Toby would be wise to listen to him until they get to the boat. He nods his assent and Chris grins, wide and indulgent.

They move stealthily along the street, still in the shadows and cover of the bushes and trees, until they come across a small gas station parking lot. It seems too out in the open, but Chris has no issue sauntering up to a few of the cars and testing their give. The door to a black jeep is open, and he gestures frantically for Toby to get in on the shotgun side. 

He hotwires it, there are sparks, and Toby suddenly feels like he’s in a heist film. 

“There she blows,” Chris murmurs triumphantly, reaching out a hand for Toby to grasp. Toby doesn’t have enough time to question his absolute lack of hesitance in holding his hand before Chris is swerving out of the parking lot and onto the street. They reach fifty miles per hour in no time and Toby is ripping his hand away to turn and look behind them.

“Slow down you maniac! Do you want to get caught?” 

“Have I ever told you, I’m a shit driver?” Chris says, going even faster. 

“Fuck, this is going to be over before it starts.”

“Even if the cops get to us, we’ll get away,” he responds firmly. “The only reason I got caught the first time was because I got shot. I don’t make the same mistake twice.” 

“Except fall in love with me,” Toby grumbles, and Chris raises a brow but doesn’t say anything in response. He howls with excitement, before asking Toby to fuck around with the GPS in the car and find the docks.

“That’s traceable. I can tell you where we’re going.” 

“Fine, fine.” 

They’re about fifteen minutes from the port when Chris begins to slow down. There are more cars nearby now, and he seems antsy to talk about something. 

“Toby, as much as I’d love to believe it, you wouldn’t just run away with me. You woulda waited out your sentence to be with your kids again. Don’t lie to me, what’s goin’ on?” 

“A while ago I would have wanted that, but my kids’ lives have already been royally fucked up, in a way I can’t reverse. I had something of a…revelation. About you, me, us. My life. Schillinger is going to do anything he can to ruin my life, my family. My kids don’t deserve that fate just because I wanted to get revenge on the guy. I made my mistakes and I don’t necessarily have to pay for them in prison where I’ll either end up dead or drained. At least this way, my kids have a chance, and you and I, we also have a chance.”

“You think bein’ with me is just another way of paying for your little mishaps?”

Of course Chris would fish out the most damning part of his confession and twist it. Toby sighs and means to refute the whole statement, but Chris chuckles whole-heartedly. 

“Nah, Tobes, you’re right. I’m a monster, a fucked up person. Hell of a risk running away with me. But, you know what this tells me above all else?”

“What?” 

“That you truly believe I love you. You know I do, above anything else.”

“I do know,” Toby admits quietly, looking out at the houses slowly transitioning into beach properties. He wonders what life would be like living on an island. God, there are so many possibilities if they manage their escape. “Chris, I’ve never thought otherwise. Even if your love comes with claws and shards.”

Chris grins toothy and amused. “Yeah, well, it’s more thrilling that way, huh?”

He can’t admit otherwise. Life with Chris had always been turbulent, horrific at times, but always addictive. He’s sure it won’t be easy, but it will be more freeing to be out, to have a grasp on Chris outside of a cell, and in the real world. Maybe this way he can reach the more human parts of him, steady him in a way he could never manage in Oz. 

“You ever had sex on a beach, Toby?” 

Toby chokes, nearly forgetting to gesture for Chris to take a right turn. “No, um, I’ve honestly never had sex anywhere other than a bedroom aside from Oz. Maybe my uncle’s car when I was a teenager.” 

“Sand gets everywhere, it’s terrible,” Chris explains. “We can bring a big ass towel. Sex on the beach at sundown? Just about as sexy as it can get.” 

Toby blushes; Chris is already planning the sex they’ll have after their escape. It should frighten him. He should be wary of it. He should be thinking about turning back and finding his kids. He should be thinking about a lot of things, but all he’s thinking about is that his kids will be safe from Schillinger, and Toby will have something close to a happy ending. 

It might be selfish, but it’s the first time he’s being entirely real with himself. 

“It’s going to be odd having sex with you outside of Oz.”

“Odd or totally erotic?”

Toby laughs. “Both probably. God, I was never — ”  _ Homosexual, a felon, morally grey _ . Well, maybe he was the latter. 

“Beecher.” Chris’ serious voice peeps out. “We’ll be okay.”

It must be showing on his face; the hysteria of escape, of getting everything his subconscious ever wanted. Not long now until they reach the docks. 

“We will.” He hopes.

* * *

Beecher’s father left the key under the doormat beyond the cabin door of the boat. Just like he promised. “This is pretty spacious, but small enough for a getaway trip,” Chris states, sauntering around the top deck like he’s surveying a cruise ship before Toby can get the door to the cabin unlocked. He looks like he owns the damn thing.

“You can thank my dad for that,” he mutters, finally jiggling the key the right way. The door to the cabin swings open, and it smells of dust and wood all at once. It is dark inside. 

Chris is suddenly behind him, as quiet as a mouse.

He noses into Toby’s hair and his arms sling around his waist. He kisses the knob at the top of his spine and closes the distance between them. “Got just one bed right?” he mumbles.

“Yes,” Toby stammers, slipping the key into his pocket. “We have to get moving, Chris. They might already be looking for us.” 

No turning back now. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Chris’ hand slips beneath his sweatpants and gropes at his cock just to feel. He seems satisfied that Toby is half-hard and lets him get to work instead of cornering him.

“Stay here, take a shower if you want,” Toby suggests. He tries not to look him in the eye, but his pace stalls when Chris yells out, “Aye, aye captain!” 

This is going to be a long trip.

An even longer life. 

* * *

They set sail with little trouble. If the coast guard finds them, and for some reason boards their vessel, Beecher will give them the name of his Aunt Dottie who was twice removed from the family. If the guard registers the visit in their logs, no one will be able to trace it back to them. They will have disappeared without a trace. 

It is daunting, returning to the cabin once the ship is on course, to find Chris naked, a thin sheet covering him. He grins wickedly when Toby enters and gives him a once over. 

“Are we gonna fuck or are you gonna keep standing on ceremony?” 

Toby feels the last of his hesitations drift away when blood begins to pump downward, pooling in his groin. This is the man he loves. This is the man who ruined his life. This is the man who has fucked him better than anyone he’s ever touched. 

Chris groans appreciatively when Toby begins to disrobe, slipping off his zip-up sweater first, then moving on to his thin t-shirt. He leans back into the fluffy pillows, eyes glistening in the dim light and watches him undress like it’s his own personal strip show. 

“No hacks, no curfew. No need to muffle your screams.”

Toby swallows, used to deflecting. 

“Unless the coast guard hops on board and finds you with your dick in my ass,” he mutters, and slips his pants off. He hesitates on his boxers, but Chris flicks back the sheet, revealing his lengthy erection, reddened at the circumcised tip. 

Air is punched out of him, and he drops his last remaining article before crawling over the bedsheets and descending on Chris’ body. It’s like going back to crack after months, like breathing fresh air after scuba diving for hours. It’s like getting an electric shock.

“Toby,” Chris moans, flipping them and pressing their bodies together, every which way. Their legs tangle jealousy, one of Chris’ slipping between so Toby can rut against him. It feels far too good, knowing no one is around to stop them. “God, you sexy son of a bitch, how’d you do this?” 

“Do what?” Toby’s breath catches on a whine when Chris’ mouth finds his neck. He places a hand on his shoulder for support. 

“Be the best thing that’s ever happened to me?”

For a moment, old resentment returns. If he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to Chris, Chris is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. Instantly, he knows that’s not entirely true. Beecher is the worst thing that ever happened to himself. He is his own vice; Chris is just there to remind him. 

“I had a bit of a glimpse into the future,” Toby reveals. “I wanted you to be a part of it.” It’s mostly the truth. And even if it confuses Chris, he growls and bites where he’d been sucking. The tendons in Toby’s neck strain and quiver, and he yelps when blood is drawn. 

Chris wouldn’t have dared in their cell, so he takes advantage, licking and lapping up the blood oozing from his neck. Toby’s nails have dug into his shoulders, and he’s surprised he’s not in more pain. Maybe his cock is throbbing too hard for him to think. 

“I don’t wanna fuck you dry, not for the first time outta prison,” Chris whispers against his lips and Toby sighs, sucking on his upper lip and tasting blood before painstakingly removing himself from beneath Chris’ body. 

He wanders over to his jacket and takes out the packet of surgical lubricant he’d stolen from the ER, and tosses it at Chris.

“You bastard. Did you grab this when you actually went to the bathroom?”

“Yup.” 

Toby was one hundred percent prepared. 

Chris drags him down and sucks kisses down his chest. Toby arches up into all of them, grinning almost manically. He slides his hands through what little hair Chris has, and scratches his nails over his scalp. “I missed your mouth,” he murmurs.

Chris looks up, a string of saliva hanging from his bottom lip and pooling on his stomach. He grins sharply and replies, “It’s barely been a week, Beech.” 

“A week in Oz is a lifetime.” He refuses to dwell on the life he lived before he died. Refuses to think about that timeline anymore. He wants Chris, his body, his mind, his heart.

“We’re out, and I ain’t never gonna give you up. You’re mine forever,” Chris promises, eyes dark and tone gruff. Toby nods, far too involved with the way his fingers are gripping tight on his thighs, spreading him open. He rips the packet of lube open with his teeth and Toby looks away when the lube spills over his fingers, making a mess. For some reason, that more than anything gets him off. The fact they’re growing more carnal every second. Disregarding etiquette of any kind. Riding too high on freedom. 

Toby cries out when Chris licks a fat stripe up his sac, wet fingers prodding at his hole simultaneously. He rocks against his hand, until two probe inward, finding his prostate in no time at all. It’s hard to keep quiet; he does it out of habit. 

“If I don’t make you scream tonight, I ain’t doin’ my job right,” Chris’ words vibrate through his cock. He murmurs them at the base, licking up the shaft, and scraping his teeth gently over the veins to make Beecher tense. He smiles, happy he can still intimidate. 

“Chris, fuck, more,” he begs, rocking down on the two slick fingers inside him. 

He wants him inside. Wants to be fucked within an inch of his life. He’s wearing horse blinders for everyone but Chris; he’s completely lost. If he thought there was no going back before, this just proves why he was right not to give in before Chris died. He would have been lost then, too. 

Love is powerful, but sex and love? God, help him. 

After a third pushes in along the others, faster than they both normally go, but with more lube than they usually have, Chris fingers him open for a while longer, sucking tingling hickeys into the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. 

“What would you do for my cock, Beecher?” Chris asks, apparently in the mood for a game before the conclusion. 

“Huh?” Toby whines when he stops hammering his prostate, instead focusing on spreading him further. There isn’t nearly enough sensation. 

“Tell me what you’d do. Would you kill for it? Would you at least hurt someone?” 

Toby snarls in frustration. “I’m not you — ”

“No, but I’d like to see if I could make you say it.”

Chris ducks down and sucks his cock, deepthroating him easily, gagging on it just for fun. Toby scrambles an arm back to grab at the headboard. He’ll come, in seconds, but Chris pulls back with a slurp and lets his dick plop wetly on his stomach. 

“Tell me you’d kill for me to be inside you. Tell me or you don’t get to come.” 

Chris looks devious, wet-mouthed between his legs, grinning up at him like he owns him, and hell, maybe he does. Toby’s brow furrows and he bites his lips. He squirms because the fingers in his ass aren’t enough. He knew Chris would pull something like this. 

The boat rocks, fingers bump against his prostate, and he locks up with need.

“Yes, yes, god, yes I’d kill for your cock. Anyone you want,  _ christ _ .” 

“That’s my baby,” Chris purrs, curling his fingers and pumping them in just the right spot that Toby’s eyes roll back painfully. He closes them, tries not to focus on the burning twist in his stomach, the throbbing in his balls that is sharp and pleasurable all at once. 

“I’m gonna fuck you harder than I’ve ever fucked you, Toby,” Chris tells him, in a low voice, watching him all the while and not stopping his hands even for a second. The other travels up his heaving chest to tweak a nipple. “I’m gonna make you feel it for days, and I’m gonna make your throat sore. Understand me?”

“Yeah!” Toby’s voice is far more high pitched than he anticipated, and he grows pink with shame, squirming again out of embarrassment. 

Chris removes his fingers. Toby’s heart pounds. 

He moves to turn over. They rarely do this when he’s on his back, but Chris presses down with both of his palms, firmly on his chest. He wants him to stay still. 

Toby opens his eyes and they make eye contact. There’s something soft in his gaze that makes him not want to look away, even with the rising humiliation of being in this position. Chris presses on his thighs until he's spread open further and he slicks up his cock before sliding in, in one swift movement. 

Toby groans, loudly before clasping both hands against Chris’s face. He squeezes, digs his nails into his nape and sighs when his body gives, relaxing around the intrusion. 

“You feel like a fucking dream,” Chris tells him, voice thick with arousal. Toby just laughs and clenches around him just to hear him swear. 

“You say that every time.” 

“It’s true.” 

Toby wraps his legs around his waist and Chris’ hands move to his torso, thumbs pressing hard against his nipples and he starts to fuck into him enthusiastically. He’d never been one to start slow, but Toby isn’t complaining. 

He tenses up with the onslaught of sensation, his prostate getting pounded from this angle even more intense than the other way around. Chris’ goddamn hands too, unrelenting as they find every spot on his body screaming for touch.

“Just like that, fuck,” Toby moans, gripping him closer. 

Chris’ mouth goes slack as he picks up the pace, fucking him up the bed until Toby has to hold onto the headboard to avoid crashing into it. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” Chris blurts out, balls slapping against the back of his thighs. Toby is too far gone to respond, moaning with each thrust. He feels like he’ll die if Chris stops. At this point, the hacks would have come over and slammed on the walls, shouted at them to stop. Murphy would have been upset his dinner had been interrupted. 

“Chris!” Toby cries out, feeling the swell of arousal set on fire, spread through him rapidly. He’s close, so close. He leans up and kisses him desperately, as if he can transfer what he’s feeling to his lover. 

Chris makes a terrifying noise, close to a snarl and less than a growl. He pulls out and drags Beecher down the bed by his legs before bending him nearly in half and sliding back in, slamming him down into the mattress like it were thin air. The bed creaks and Toby does scream then, as his wrists are pinned to the sheets. 

He writhes, trapped beneath this goliath, and when he makes eye contact, it sends a shock through his system, quite similar to electrocution. The pure love Chris is emitting toward him hurts so damn good he couldn’t imagine having made any other decision that would have ended with him anywhere but here. 

“You gonna come?” Chris asks, breathily. Sweat beads at his brow. 

It’s a testament to their relationship that Chris knows he won’t need a hand on his cock to get off tonight.

Toby whines and nods, screaming again when Chris starts to pound him harder.  _ Mine, mine, mine. _ He doesn’t know if that is his thought or Chris’ but at this point it doesn’t matter. 

“Together,” he pleads, charging down to capture Tobias’ mouth with his own. He pants into his mouth as his hips begin to stutter. “Please, Toby, come with me, please.” 

When he’s asking so nicely, Toby can’t refuse. 

He clamps down on his cock, tensing up all over before he starts to shiver and comes harder than he ever has. He doesn’t know what noises are spilling from his mouth, but he distantly hears the feral noises Chris is making as well, both of them shuddering and grasping at any skin they can find, desperate to ride the wave of stark pleasure to its end. 

Warm spreads inside him, and a droplet of his own come splatters against his chin. 

When it’s over, Toby doesn’t register how long he came, but he’s so elated and cloudy that he thinks he could let the boat drive itself if it meant staying here, in Chris’ arms for the rest of time.

He realizes, it is perhaps the first time they’ve made love with the lights on. Not a blowjob, or a quickie behind the washing machines, but full-on making love. They’ve only ever done it in the dark. 

The future seems less grim right now, and Toby knows better than anyone there will be a time when that changes, but for right now, he is happy. 

“I know how to steal money,” Chris tells him, breath hot against his neck. He’s a heavy weight over Toby’s chest, but it doesn’t matter. “We’re going to get that beach house, Toby.” 

“Just like in your dreams?” 

“Better than.” 

Toby sighs, holds Chris tighter before whispering,

“We’ll see.” 

**Author's Note:**

> there needs to be more lube in this fandom no cap


End file.
